Last Chance
by ThisCouldTheoreticallyBeSparta
Summary: After years refusing every prospective guardian that is offered to him, Arthur the mage is given one last chance in the form of Alfred, a warrior newly graduated from the Warrior's Academy. If he doesn't make this work, his life will be changed forever.
1. Part One

**LAST CHANCE**

Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia

Pairing: UsUk. SuFin and DenNor if you really want to see it.

Genre: adventure, romance, high fantasy AU

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: APH belongs to Himaruya, and the countries factually belong to themselves. Or their bosses and the people that live there, rather.

Warning:

Summary: After years refusing every prospective guardian that is offered to him, Arthur the mage is given one last chance in the form of Alfred, a warrior newly graduated from the Warrior's Academy. If he doesn't make this work, his life will be changed forever.

A/n: a very, very belated birthday present for Mockingboots. She asked for a quirky AU, and so I just took it an ran. This is based on the magical rules of my own fantasy world, as are some of the place names. So it's like I wrote a APH crossover fic of my own stuff. Also, I'm sorry this is only the first part. The second part will come along eventually! I hope you like it.

Names:

Eirik = Norway

Mathias = Denmark

Sofiya = Ukraine

Dragomir = Bulgaria

Constantin = Romania

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_Every guardian must protect his mage, and every mage must honour his guardian. They are as one being in two bodies._

_-Third Precept, Sorcerer's Code of Conduct._

.

Three things made a mage a mage. The first was a familiar: animals of the Wilderland that would choose their mage and bond with them. They would become the repository of the mage's very soul, and in return gain the gift of tongues, a way of voicing their already well-documented sapience. A mage and his familiar were tighter than blood, as they shared the same soul: you killed the familiar, you killed the mage, and vice-versa. A familiar was a guide, a companion, a confidant and a badge of pride. Even country mages who had never finished their education at the Azure Tower had a familiar.

The second thing was a staff. Although magic could be used barehanded, it was well-known that the shape of the staff itself aided in the casting of spells, made them faster, deadlier and also easier to aim. Fireballs were flashy, but they weren't much use on the battlefield when one could use a staff as a flamethrower instead. Each staff represented its mage in such a fundamental way they were considered on the same level as a familiar. If a mage's staff was lost or broken, they would mourn it before finding an inadequate, temporary replacement until a second staff was created. Of course, staves rarely broke, so smothered with protective magic than made them harder than steel, but when they did, the second staff was never quite the same. It was like losing a limb, in some ways, and having to go through the rest of one's life with a prosthesis.

The third and final thing was a guardian. The study of magic consumed a mage. It gave them long life, sometimes even immortality, but it also wrapped them in it so tight they rarely had time for anything else. Human warrior mages were as rare as dragons in the western lands, few had ever existed, and were spoken of in tones of awe and admiration. The lack of physical strength and the long life made it necessary for a mage to have a guardian: a warrior companion to share the burden with. Most of the time, this was also the mage's lover, but not always. Others were simply friends or even siblings – the important part being a human companion along with the animal, someone a mage could share their life with. Through exposure to the mage's magic his or her guardian gained the same long life and extraordinary physical prowess, some even acquiring the strength of ten dwarves, and they remained together through any adversity. A guardian was the requirement for the license to wield magic in the name of the Azure Tower and be a mage in the eyes of the Circle of Enchanters – a true sorcerer, not a country mage.

Now, Arthur of the House of Kirkland had no problem with the first two items. He had a familiar, a wolpertinger of the kind found only in the Escanar Mountains, which he had named Greene for his peculiar colour. Greene was Arthur's voice of reason, calm, collected and persuasive, he could cool Arthur off when the mage flew into one of his tempers. Arthur also had a staff he was quite proud of: simply carved, straight and made of oak wood with a large emerald at its tip, it was best used for Arthur's favoured use of magic, spirit-calling. All this on its own would have been fine, and would have earned Arthur his diploma, but…

He lacked a guardian. For four years now, he'd sent them all back where they'd come from, namely the Warrior's Academy section of the Tower, where they'd either go home, enrol in the army or find another, much less demanding mage to guard. He'd given three a nervous breakdown. He seemed utterly determined to obtain his diploma as a mage with no guardian and whenever his old master, Eirik, would ask why, he stubbornly declared he didn't need some muscle-headed fool with more brawn than brain running around after him, and that he was perfectly fine on his own. Mathias, Eirik's guardian, would raise his head and scowl at the youth whenever he heard that, but Arthur would pointedly ignore him. In the end Eirik gave up trying to persuade him that even though Mathias was a lost cause, not every guardian was an idiot like him (which didn't faze Mathias in the slightest, of course, and merely earned a display of affection that usually ended with Eirik's staff in Mathias's stomach) and that Arthur should at least try instead of being unnecessarily cruel. Arthur remained unmoveable.

Arthur had begun to notice that every new guardian he was paired up with was getting younger and younger. He realised that, at twenty, he was now far older than most graduates of the school, and the guardians were becoming more flippant and less inclined to strive for his approval. Four years of ignoring them would do that, he supposed. At first, they had been rather gung-ho, ready to run as soon as he snapped his fingers and demanded something unreasonable. They were so eager to please. Then word had got around of the legendary impossible Arthur Kirkland. A new type of guardian came in, one much tougher and more stubborn, even more determined to make Arthur his or her mage than Arthur was to get rid of them: they viewed the whole thing as a challenge. Some tried seduction, others tried pleading, one or two even tried blackmail, but none prevailed. Now a new kind had come out. They were entirely bored, rarely gave in to Arthur's requests and simply waited until he sent them back in order to be paired up with someone better. One had even _requested_ Headmistress Calliope assign her to someone else.

And so it came to be that in Arthur's twenty-first year, Timo, the mage who was in charge of guardian assignment, called him in. For once, the cheerful man seemed completely serious. Usually he would berate Arthur lightly, with a nervous laugh, and get him to sign a few forms, and voice his hope that this would be the right one. This time, however, he sighed when he saw Arthur, his hands clasped in front of him on his wooden desk. His own guardian, Berwald, looked as terrifying as ever. Arthur just stood there, his pose cocky from all the times he had been here. He left the embarrassment to Greene, who was being harshly scrutinised by Timo's swan familiar.

"Arthur," Timo began. "The Council of Masters has spoken with the Circle of Enchanters about your… case."

Arthur folded his arms and huffed. He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Timo's eyes narrowed with displeasure but he did not comment on Arthur's behaviour.

"This entire situation is unacceptable, and unsustainable," he went on. "There has never been such a state of affairs in all the recorded history of the Tower and, to be frank, it is a disgrace. We have decided that you will be assigned only one more guardian. One more guardian, and then… _measures_ will be taken."

"Measures?" Arthur echoed. What could they do to him other than send him home? He could be a country mage, he'd met a few in his parents' lands over the years, it wasn't a bad job, being a village healer.

"Yes, Arthur. Measures." Timo seemed uncharacteristically stern as he said those words, his violet eyes drilling into Arthur. The younger mage shifted uncomfortably under his senior's gaze. "If you this does not work out… Your bond with your familiar will be sundered, your staff will be broken and you will be systematically drained of all your inner mana. You will never be able to use magic again."

It took a moment for those words to sink in. When they did, he clutched Greene to his chest in horror, taking a step back.

"You can't do that!" he cried. "You can't take my magic away! You can't take Greene!"

Greene whimpered and nuzzled into him, shaking in his arms. Timo's stern façade fell and he looked truly distraught.

"Arthur, I'm s-so sorry, but that's what the council has decided," he said, his eyes filling with tears. Berwald placed a hand on his shoulder and Timo shook his head. "I can't do anything about it. It won't hurt either you or Greene, but that's all the comfort I can give you." He kneaded at his eyes with the heel of his hand and took a deep breath. "Try your hardest this time, Arthur. Please."

Arthur held Greene tighter, stubbornly fighting back his own tears. What would he do without this soft, mint green fur beneath his fingers? Without a twitching rabbit nose snuffling at his own? Without someone as kind and cheerful as Greene to stave off loneliness? And a life without magic, without the very life force that flowed through his veins, tied to his blood and every particle of his body… it didn't bear thinking about.

"Come back tomorrow morning for the forms and your guardian," Timo said, and he sounded exhausted. Arthur nodded, his sight blurry as he turned and stumbled towards the door.

That night, he and Greene cried together, terrified of what, and more worryingly _who_, the next day would bring.

.

Arthur hadn't gotten much sleep at all. He'd spent the whole night watching Greene sleep, fully convinced he would have to give up the dearest part of him. He'd breathed in that warm fur and watched his little chest rise and fall, and he'd tried not to cry all over again.

But now here he was, standing outside Timo's office, Greene trembling on his shoulder. He couldn't bring himself to knock on the door. For all he knew, the next two months of trials would be the last time he would spend with Greene. So he stood there, more frightened than he ever had been in his life…

"OUT THE WAY!"

Until a yell and the violent thud of heavily running feet startled him from his slow, methodical stroking of Greene's fur. He just managed to get out of the way as a boy, probably seventeen at the most, skidded to a halt outside the door and gripped his knees, bent double, panting.

"Damn, I thought… I was going to be late!" he gasped out, finally straightening himself with a weak grin. Arthur just stared. Who on Earth was this lunatic? The boy's smile grew stronger, bright and charming, and Arthur felt his face burn red. He was quite handsome, really, his hair cornfield gold and his eyes… they were the bluest blue he'd ever seen. Not to mention those broad shoulder and that little slip of bare chest he could see through the unlaced collar of his loose shirt… Arthur looked down with a scowl at a sniggering Greene, face still an embarrassed red, but luckily the other didn't seem to notice.

Instead, he knocked on the door eagerly, and Timo's voice called out for him to enter. Arthur stared. There was only one person this could be…

"Hi, Master Timo, Master Berwald!" said the youth cheerfully, waving. Arthur followed slowly, still staring at him in utter incredulity. This was the person he was being assigned as guardian? This… this boy? Timo greeted them both with a smile and slid two sheets of parchment onto the desk. Berwald merely nodded at Arthur, but he offered a lopsided, rather frightening half-smile to the blond youth.

"Well, it's good to see you both got here at the same time!" Timo said. He sounded much more jovial than the previous day, obviously confident in this young man who now stood at Arthur's side. Arthur frowned at the boy's behaviour. He was practically bouncing on the spot, hands behind his back, still grinning like a fool. Well, at least Arthur knew the Circle had it in for him. There was no way this lad was anything but painfully incompetent. He sighed to himself, resigned that he'd lose Greene, and kissed the wolpertinger's head and stroked one of his long, silky ears lovingly.

"Have you met each other before?" Timo went on, looking from one to the other. The youth shook his head.

"No, Sir! This is the first time." He turned to Arthur and grinned again. Arthur averted his eyes, huffing. The boy's accent betrayed someone from the Great Plains to the west, and a commoner at that. Timo winced, well used to Arthur's moody temperament.

"Well, Alfred, this is Arthur of the House of Kirkland. Arthur, this is Alfred Jones."

Alfred offered a hand, but Arthur merely gave it a disdainful look and turned away. Timo groaned softly.

"Alfred is fresh from the Academy, aren't you? Trained by Gilbert the Black Eagle himself, am I right?" It was clear Timo was grasping for something that would make Arthur change his mind. Alfred nodded eagerly.

"Yes, that's right. Best score in my year, I think… there's no way that git Ivan can be better than me."

Timo laughed and turned to Arthur with an expression that seemed to say, 'he's not so bad, is he?', but Arthur was having none of it.

"Where do I sign?" he said emptily. Timo's face fell and waved glumly at the sheets of parchment.

"You know the drill by now, Arthur," he muttered. Arthur stepped forward and took the quill he was offered, signing his name with a flourish. He handed it to Alfred next, who was frowning at his own piece of parchment.

"Here?" he asked. Arthur rolled his eyes and nodded irritably, and Alfred smiled his thanks. His fingers brushed Arthur's as he took the quill, and Arthur snatched his hand back as if it had been scalded, blushing again. Greene nipped his ear mischievously with a whisper of "he's quite handsome, isn't he?". Arthur batted him away and folded his arms tetchily.

Once Alfred's name was also scribbled down, Timo waved his hand to dry the wet ink and rolled both pieces up. "I hope to see good results from this new relationship."

Arthur turned a brilliant red again, spluttering. That was just the worst choice of words Timo could have come out with. Alfred himself blushed somewhat, chuckled and scratching his nose embarrassedly. Timo seemed to realise what he'd said, though, and gasped, his own cheeks pinking, waving his hands in a flustered manner.

"Oh, n-not like _that_, I mean – not that _that_ would be a bad thing, of course – I-I only meant a p-professional relationship! I… Oh, _perkele_. You're dismissed!"

Alfred was still chuckling as he left the room, but now at Timo's agitation. Once he stopped, he noticed had already left, heading down the corridor.

"Hey, wait! Arthur!"

Arthur raised his eyes to the heavens. He contemplated walking faster, but instead he stopped and looked back, folding his arms again.

"What?" It came out rather snappy, and Greene gave a reproachful sniff. Alfred looked quite hurt at that.

"I thought… well, since I'm going to be your guardian and all, we could get to know each other better," he mumbled. Arthur snorted in disbelief.

"Really, now – Alfred, isn't it? – do you _honestly_ think I'm going to do that?" The boy had to either be incredibly dense or incredibly naïve… or both. Perhaps both. He had a puppy-like quality to him, after all, and puppies were both dense and naïve. Alfred frowned.

"Well, yeah, if we're going to work together," he replied. Arthur rolled his eyes and actually laughed. A scornful, condescending laugh.

"Listen, these contracts last two months. I'm not going to like you and you're going to end up simply _hating_ me. You're going to be assigned to a new mage, someone far less demanding and a good deal less powerful than me, and we're both going to say 'good riddance'. And that's the end. I know the drill, as Master Timo said."

Alfred shook his head. "You don't know whether any of that is going to happen!"

"On the contrary, Alfred," Arthur said coldly. "I know that is going to happened. You know how many guardians I've had and ruined the lives of? You're just the last in a long, long line."

And with that, he turned on his heel and stormed away, leaving Alfred alone in the long corridor. He could feel Greene glaring at him, and once he'd returned to his bedchamber the wolpertinger flew to the windowsill and landed, still glowering accusatorially. The mage tried to ignore him, sitting as his desk under and trying to get some letter-writing to his family done, but Greene's gaze was distracting, to say the least. It bore into the side of Arthur's skull enough that he eventually snapped.

"What?" he demanded. "What do you want?"

Greene huffed, crouching down with his eyes still on Arthur. "You didn't even try," he said reprovingly. Arthur caught the disappointment in his voice. He bit his lip. No, he hadn't tried. He'd already given up.

"What would you have me do?" he asked. "Grit my teeth and bear it? I can't just say yes and then spend of the rest of my life with someone I hate!"

"I'd have you try, Arthur!" Greene cried. "It's like you don't care anymore! Like you don't care about _me_!"

Arthur froze. "Don't say that, you know it's not true…"

Greene shook his head. "It bloody well seems like it." He huddled in on himself and refused to speak to Arthur for the rest of the day, even at lunch.

At dinner, Alfred sat down in front of the two, who were still not talking to each other. He tried in vain to start a conversation, but Arthur completely ignored him, nudging his food around on his plate before getting up and leaving his meal untouched. Greene, of course, had no choice but to follow him, but he did look back at a dejected Alfred and wish Arthur would stop being so obstinately foolish.

.

Arthur skilfully avoided Alfred for two whole days. He made sure he took the long way to the potions storerooms, dodging the indoor training ground, the armoury, the guardians' dormitories and anywhere else where he suspected Alfred might be. Greene, of course, greatly disapproved of this, and continually voiced this disapproval to Arthur at all times. Over the years Arthur had become quite used to unwisely ignoring his familiar, though, and did exactly that. He also wondered why Alfred hadn't been moved into his room yet. Usually assigned guardians would move in with their mages, to promote unity (which, of course, in Arthur's case never helped things at all). Perhaps they really didn't care anymore. It was a miracle they'd put up with this long, and it was probably only a mark of how much potential he'd shown, and how much raw magical power nature had endowed him with, that they had.

However, Arthur could not avoid Alfred forever, and on the third day since their meeting both were called to the office of yet another mage, Sofiya. Her guardian, her sister Nataliya, glared at them as they stood before her mage's desk.

"You are to be sent on a mission," she informed them. "Arthur, you are the only skilled mage we can spare at the moment. We have received word from the guardian of the mage we sent there, Dragomir, that his mage is critically injured, and needs magical medicine immediately. They are in this village, on the border between our lands and the Moors, on the other side of the Dragontail Mountains." She pointed to a place on the map, on the on the edge of lands Arthur recognised as being the domain of orcs and goblins.

"The orcs are attacking with increased violence due to the harsh winter," Sofiya said, sniffling. She looked on the verge of tears, but then again she did most of the time. "Normally we would send more of you, but with the snows in the north and the attacks by pirates in the west, we are stretched so thin we can't send anyone else. You are their only hope. Don't disappoint them."

Arthur merely nodded, mentally preparing himself for the three-day trek through the mountains. It was madness at this time of year, but what else could they do? Spring's thaw was weeks away, and by then all that would be left by the raiders would be burnt bodies and the charcoal skeletons of what had once been homes. And beyond the mountains? Certain death. The probabilities of one mage and two guardians against the hordes of orc marauders were next to nothing. It was a suicide mission, and Arthur felt his stomach turn upside down with the realisation that neither of them would probably live to tell the tale. At least the Circle was had enough faith that the two of them could last until spring, until they could call other mages back and send them. Although, Arthur mused, it probably wasn't faith so much as desperation, and he took little solace in the fact he and Alfred wouldn't be the only ones condemned to death.

Alfred, the stupid fool, contrary to any natural reaction to such a dead-end mission, was grinning. From ear to ear. He was studying the map, and Arthur could practically feel him vibrate with barely contained excitement. It was obvious that he was desperate to prove himself in some way. The mage wanted to throttle him. Nothing ruined missions more easily than reckless fools out to strut their stuff.

Arthur thanked Sofiya, took the information for the mission and left the room, followed by a stupidly giddy Alfred.

"This is it! We're going to be heroes, Arthur!"

Arthur shook his head, barely believing his ears. "Are you mad? We're going there to hold the orcs off until reinforcements can get there, and it's more than likely we'll die trying! There's no way we can get through this!"

Alfred waved his protests away with a brief wave of his hand. "We can do this!" he said, and for a moment, Arthur almost gave way to the boy's irrational confidence. Something in his voice, in his body language, his expression, made Arthur sway.

But the moment was gone as soon as it had come, and Arthur's bad temper and exasperation at Alfred's blindness returned with a vengeance.

"Oh, I could punch you!" he snarled. He threw Alfred's copy of the mission papers at him and stomped off towards the Healers' Wing. But instead of just letting him go this time, Alfred caught up with him. Arthur let out a noise of great frustration that sounded like a strangled cow.

"What?" he demanded sharply. Alfred scowled.

"Nothing, I want to come with you," he said. "It's my mission too. You really aren't trying to make this easy on us, are you? I haven't seen you since Tuesday."

Arthur refused to believe the boy didn't understand when he was being avoided. "I didn't _want_ to see you."

"Come on, Arthur, what have I done to you to warrant this? Is there something wrong with me?"

The mage stopped dead so suddenly Alfred kept going for a few steps. He turned and came back, looking rather sheepish, but Arthur didn't notice. He clenched his fists, staring a hole in the floor. Alfred tried to peer at his face, raising a cautious hand that did not quite have the courage to touch Arthur's shoulder.

"Arthur? Arthur, what's wrong?"

"Leave me alone, Alfred," Arthur said. "Get it through that thick skull of yours that I want nothing to do with you."

He shoved roughly past the other and ascended the staircase at the end of the corridor. It took him a little while to realise Greene was no longer on his shoulder, so lost in anger, frustration and bitter memories.

In the corridor below, Alfred looked at Greene. "Is there really something wrong with me?" he asked. Greene sighed and shook his head.

"It's not you, Alfred," he said. "It's not you at all. Arthur, he –"

"Greene!"

The wolpertinger turned to the staircase and sighed. "Sorry, Alfred. I just don't think he really cares anymore." And with that he flew off towards Arthur, giving Alfred one last apologetic look as he went.

.

The next day Alfred met Arthur at the huge wooden door that opened onto the immense entrance hall of the tower. He was wearing thick woollen clothes, much like Arthur's, but with a shorter tunic, and a fur-lined, blue cloak. Hands wearing thick leather gloves held tightly to the straps of his pack. Arthur barely nodded a greeting, to which Alfred replied with a huffy frown, but Greene offered as much of a smile as something that looked like a rabbit could, which Alfred answered. They then set off down the frozen road that led to the small town in a stony, non-negotiable silence.

Once they had reached the town, they quickly found the cart that was heading to one of the small villages on this side of the mountains that would give them a lift and save them as much time as possible. They clambered on, sitting on the back with the bottles of fruit and barrels of dried meat, and made themselves as comfortable as they could in the cold, early morning air on hard boards. The vial of orc-poison antidote sat swaddled in protective cloth in Arthur's large satchel, next to food, a change of clothes and enchanted parchment. The enchanted parchment that would be Alfred's only means of communication if something were to happen to Arthur.

The silence still lengthened, like a wall three feet thick between them. Alfred fidgeted with his sword hilt, tugging his muffler up over the bottom half of his face. Arthur simply sat and watching the white countryside creep slowly by, his cheeks and the tip of his nose burning cold. Greene ruffled his feathers and fluffed up his fur cantankerously and nipped Arthur's ear.

Arthur yelped, clutched a hand to his ear and glaring at his familiar, who merely stuck his nose in the air.

"I'm bored!" he snapped. "Talk to me!"

Arthur scowled, but Alfred laughed. "What do you want to talk about?"

Greene settled down on a barrel smugly and shrugged in a rabbit-like sort of way. "I don't know, whatever you like."

"What kind of animal are you, exactly?" he said. "I've never seen anything like you before, and I'd've noticed a flying green rabbit."

Greene gave him a look of wounded pride and turned his head. "I'm not a rabbit, I am a wolpertinger! It's completely different. And we're not just green, we're plenty of different colours. My sister is pink."

"Where do wolpertingers live?" Alfred asked, awed. Arthur simply rolled his eyes; he'd lived with Greene since he was thirteen, he'd heard the wolpertinger's life story enough times to know it by heart.

"Well, wolpertingers are creatures native to the Escanar Mountain range…"

.

End of Part One

End notes

Wolpertingers: wolpertingers are Bavarian folk animals, basically rabbits/hares with fangs, antlers and wings. Flying Mint Bunny is certainly not a wolpertinger, but I'm not sure what else I could call a winged green rabbit, really. :P So in this story he is a wolpertinger.


	2. Part Two

Part Two

A/n: thanks to Kay the Beta for help with this part. You're awesome!

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By the time they reached the village in the early afternoon, Arthur was about to kill himself. Alfred had unwittingly opened the well of infinite boredom that was Greene when he started talking, but rather than wishing to stab his ears with pointy stakes, he seemed enthralled. Greene had not only gone through the whole story of his life before that day, but also a good few Escanar folk tales and the entire origin story of the Dragonriders. It had been the longest cart ride of Arthur's life.

He slid off the end of the cart as soon as it stopped, paid the driver and stumbled off to find an inn and order a room. Alfred hurried after him, Greene perched on his shoulder – the little green traitor – laughing with the wolpertinger quite cheerfully. It made him sick, really. Greene should have known better than to fraternise with the enemy.

But Alfred wasn't the enemy, was he? As much as Arthur found him annoying, he didn't quite hate him. He didn't suppose anyone could truly hate the lad, he was far too… likeable. However, Arthur certainly wouldn't be won over as easily as his familiar. He had principles, after all.

He found an inn, and it was practically empty. A woman who was darning clothes, a small boy and a large dog sat in front of the common room fireplace. A man, obviously the innkeeper, was behind the counter, cleaning some beer mugs with a cloth. The only other patrons were two dwarves, who sat in corner smoking their pipes and speaking in their own tongue.

"A double?" Arthur asked.

"Four shields," the man said, accepting Arthur's money with a brief smile. "What brings a mage to these parts at this time of year?"

Alfred answered before Arthur could. "We need to cross the mountains. There are villages in trouble on the other side."

The innkeeper looked very serious all of a sudden. Near the fireplace, his wife made the Elder Goddess's sign over her face.

"When will ye be leaving?" he asked.

"Tomorrow, if it doesn't snow," Arthur replied. He took the key to their room and headed up the stairs, followed by Alfred. The creaking of floorboards was deafening in the tough silence that once again fallen.

The room was clean and well-kept – being a village along a main trade route through the mountains made for good business, and the innkeeper obviously took pride in his work. Alfred dumped his pack on the floor, propped his sword in the corner and threw himself on the bed nearest the door. Greene alighted on the bedpost, yawning.

"So, what do we do now?" Alfred asked. "Before tomorrow?"

Arthur shrugged. "Buy some more supplies, if we can, and then get a good night's sleep." He sat on his own bed, staring at the floor. All he could think about was tomorrow. Would they even be able to cross the mountains? The pass was sure to be completely blocked at this time of year… They would probably die halfway. Maybe that was a better fate than the one on the other side. As much as he did not want to leave a fellow mage to surely die, he could not help but be absolutely terrified. He wondered how Alfred could be so calm, although he realised he himself was not exactly a nervous wreck externally. Perhaps setting himself to do something would take his mind off it.

"I'm going to see what I can find," he said. Alfred sat up.

"Want me to come with –"

Arthur's cold look was enough to silence him, and he frowned, folding his arms and turning the other way. The mage looked at his familiar expectantly, but Greene merely ignored him. With a scowl, Arthur left, muttering angrily.

.

He calculated his return for late afternoon, having gathered as many provisions as he could from what little the town could spare. Alfred was sitting in the common room, tucking into some sort of bean soup. He truly ate like a pig. Greene sat beside him, munching on a piece of bread. A bowl, the mage noticed, had been _graciously_ laid out for him, and he sat down with a scowl, poking at his stew with plenty of ugly thoughts.

"It's cold," he said, glaring at the two of them.

"Should've gotten here earlier, then," Alfred said flippantly, and went back to talking to Greene and blatantly ignoring Arthur. Arthur's scowl just worsened, twisting his face horribly. He wouldn't ever have admitted it, but he was insanely jealous of all this new attention his familiar was showing Alfred. It was, in his mind, the greatest treachery the wolpertinger could ever commit. Fraternising with the enemy, he called it. He ate his meal in stony, hurt silence as Alfred and Greene – the little rabbity bastard – continued chatting amicably, and huffily stood once he'd finished, stomping up the stairs with no regard for any other patrons whatsoever. It was wiser to get an early night, after all.

Unfortunately, sleep was elusive, for two reasons: Alfred snored something dreadful, and he couldn't get the fear of the next day away from the forefront of his mind. He tried to quash it with any thoughts, any at all, but he failed miserably. If he wasn't thinking about certain death, he was thinking about Alfred and Greene's newfound friendship, and a hot surge of terrible jealousy would rush through him. Greene had no right to speak to that fool, and the more he did, the more Arthur realised he certainly wasn't on his side.

"Can't sleep?"

Arthur glowered at the wolpertinger that alighted on the headboard, looking down at him worriedly. He snorted and rolled over, facing the wall. He'd blatantly refused to face the room, and Alfred's bed. Greene sighed and there was the rustle of settling feathers in the still air of the room. Alfred must have rolled over in his sleep, because the snoring had ceased to steady, soft breathing.

"You can't ignore me forever, Arthur," Greene said in annoyance. "Please, talk to me."

Arthur sighed. "Why don't you go and talk to _Alfred_?" he said waspishly, uttering Alfred's name with as much venom as possible. Greene sighed in frustration.

"Stop being stupid. Right now! You know why I'm being so friendly towards him? Well, aside from the fact he is a very nice, clever, funny young man, I'm doing it so maybe you'll have the incentive to get to know him too! To give him and this whole situation a chance! You're being so stubborn and so stupid, it's almost as if you don't want me or to be a mage! I'm doing this to save our future, Arthur. Doesn't it matter _anything _ to you?"

Arthur remained silent for a long time. Now, along with the jealousy, there was also guilt. He felt guilty that Greene was trying so hard, and Arthur wasn't trying much at all. But how could he? What was the point? This whole mission would have only one outcome, and it wouldn't be pretty. He and Greene wouldn't see the spring anyway.

"I don't like him," Arthur said instead, scowling into the darkness. "I don't want him as our guardian."

Greene groaned and shook his head. "When will you get it, Arthur? He's _not _ coming back, and he never wanted us in the first place! Get over it!"

Arthur froze in his bed. It had been years since Greene had mentioned… that. He'd promised not to, and now he brought it up so suddenly, in this of all places, and it hurt.

"Goodnight, Greene," he snapped through gritted teeth and dragged the covers over his head. There couldn't have been a more obvious end to their conversation. Greene snorted in disgust and flew over to Alfred's bed, nestling at the warrior's side, his head low and his wings tucked to his side, while across the room, Arthur wiped away tears over something he hadn't thought about in forever.

.

It had been painfully obvious from the outset that the traipse up the mountain would be a long and hard one. Wading through knee-deep snow or along slippery paths was extremely tiring. Many times Arthur, walking behind Alfred, had slipped and had to be caught quickly. It was a mark of how tiring it all was that he did not complain but merely nodded his thanks and began walking again. Complaining took up far too much energy, and Arthur didn't want to be even more of a burden than he would undoubtedly become the further they got. He was a mage, and mages were not known for their physical prowess. Certainly, they were fit – they had to be to tackle long journeys hither and thither across the continent – but this went beyond mere toil and into the realm of hard exertion.

Stopping for lunch had been welcome, but difficult. They laid out their heavy cloaks on a clear patch beneath a pine tree and chewed on hard bread and dried fruit hungrily. Neither spoke, both far too exhausted to even think of doing so. It wasn't until they'd finished that Alfred sighed.

"We'll never get far at this rate," he said, looking around. He opened his pack and pulled out a length of thin rope. Arthur licked his fingers clean and shoved his hands back in his gloves quickly.

"And what do you propose we do? Fly?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny." Alfred rolled his eyes and stood, wrenching some branches off another pine nearby. "Nope, make snowshoes."

Arthur stood as well, wandering over curiously. "Snowshoes?"

Alfred nodded. He lay two branches across each other on the snow, placed his foot where the limbs crossed and tied his foot to it. Once he'd done the same with the other, he walked for a few feet, grinning. He didn't sink half as much into the snow, now. Greene clapped his little paws and Arthur nodded, impressed.

"Weight distribution! Genius!" he exclaimed. He blushed when Alfred turned around and beamed at him, and he tried to ignore the way was smirking at him.

"Thanks," Alfred said, heading back to where Arthur was standing and laying out the branches for him as well. "My brother and I used to do this as kids."

"You have a brother?" Arthur asked, surprised, as he tied the thin rope around his foot securely. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah, his name's Matthew. He still lives on the farm back west." He waved dismissively in the general direction of where the sun set. Arthur truly was surprised. He hadn't expected Alfred to be someone with siblings, he struck him as being an only child. "What about you?"

Arthur blinked, jerked from his thoughts by Alfred's question. He followed the warrior's lead, clasping his cloak on once more and slinging his pack over his shoulder. For a moment, he debated not answering. He didn't really want to tell Alfred anything about himself. But then again, Greene would tell him later, when Arthur was asleep or not around for some other reason.

"I have three older brothers and one younger one," he muttered, chewing on his lip.

"You're a Kirkland, right? I heard they were warriors. How'd you end up a mage?"

Arthur huffed. "Is this an interrogation?" he demanded. Alfred groaned.

"Look, Arthur, we'll be stuck alone together for a while, at least. I'm not interrogating you, I'm just curious, that's all."

The mage glared at Alfred's back. It made sense, of course, but he certainly did not want to divulge his life story to this man. Greene, who was once again on Alfred's shoulder, looked back expectantly. Arthur once again raised his eyes heavenward (he was doing this far too often lately) and gave up.

"Yes, my family has been all warriors for generations. My mother happened to come from a family with magic, and I inherited it, that was that. All three of my older brothers are warriors, but I'm not sure what my younger brother Peter will become." He said all of this in one breath, which, to Arthur's irritation, made Alfred laugh.

"My brother's just a farmer, like my pa and grandpa," he said. "My pa saved up for ages to send me to the Academy, and it was such a relief when I was accepted. I didn't want to disappoint them, y'see. They were so proud, I learnt my letters and everything. Pa can't write, so Mattie has to read all the letters I send home."

"Why didn't they send your brother too?" Arthur couldn't help but feel sorry for Matthew, really. Watching his brother leave for an undoubtedly better, richer life while he was still stuck there, labouring away. How horrid.

"Couldn't afford it, and, well… Mattie's always been the underdog. I hate it, but I was always the one that stood out more. Which is weird, because he's the pretty one." Alfred laughed again, shifting his pack to sit more comfortably on his shoulder.

They lapsed into silence soon after that, Alfred admiring the rather monotonous scenery, Arthur gazing at the ground in thought. He'd learnt something new about Alfred, today. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but he was sure he shouldn't feel quite as happy about it, not at all.

They made better time with Alfred's ingenious snowshoes, and by the time the light had started to dim, they were well up the mountain. Alfred scouted around for a place for them to light a fire, and settled for beneath another pine, up against a sheltered cliff. He cleared the pine needles away until there was bare earth, digging a shallow hole and placing a small pile of needles in it again.

"Is there any dry wood?" Arthur asked, shivering. It had been cold all day, of course, but he hadn't really noticed, and had spent most of the time wiping his forehead free of sweat. Now, however, with the temperature dropping rapidly, the chilly mountain air made itself violently known.

"Not completely dry, it'll be a little smoky… Sorry 'bout that." Alfred got to work with some dead pine branches and resin, his tinderbox snapping against the needles along with the sound of his prayers. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously? A _tinderbox_?" he asked. Alfred looked up, frowning.

"How else would you… Oh. Yeah." He grinned sheepishly as Arthur pointed to his staff. The mage stepped forward, trying his hardest to suppress a chuckle, and stuffed the tip of his staff into the small heap of vegetation that was to become their fire. After muttering an incantation, Arthur smirked proudly as green fire flared up and immediately took, crackling merrily. Alfred whistled.

"I'd never seen someone do magic up this close," he said, creating some long piles of pine needles Arthur supposed would become their beds, one on each side of the fire. Arthur looked very smug.

"There's plenty more where that came from," he said. "I _am _ an extremely powerful mage."

Alfred sniggered. "Ok, ok, don't get a swollen head. It's my department to come out with empty boasts, y'know." After laying his bedroll on the pine needles and laying down with a heavy groan, he tucked his hands beneath his head and glanced over to Arthur, who had sat down and begun rummaging in his pack.

"Are you really a powerful mage?" he asked quietly. Arthur looked up, a packet of dried meat halfway out of his pack, and he blushed deeply. Alfred looked surprised at that, it seemed, but he hid a grin behind his hand.

"Well, when my master – Eirik – first encountered me and they sounded my magical ability, it turned out I was absolutely full of mana, even at such a young age. They said I was a rarity and full of potential." He cleared his throat and passed Alfred the pack, straightening his robes primly.

"I can be proud if I become your Guardian, then?"

Arthur's face burnt a deeper shade of red and he snatched the offered package back, taking a few slices for himself and deliberately not looking at Alfred's grin or Greene's shrewd look.

.

The day dawned early, even though it was still quite gloomy on this side of the mountain. The fire had died down, now merely a pile of reddish embers. Arthur was glad he had spread a long-lasting warmth shield over their little enclave before he'd fallen asleep, and it had certainly done its job in keeping them from freezing to death. Across from him, Alfred yawned and stretched, groaning as he sat up and rubbed his head.

"I feel like shit," he muttered. Arthur smirked.

"You'd think you'd be used to physical exertion," he said teasingly.

"Yeah, but I'm not used to sleeping on pine needles in the middle of the wilderness. I miss my bed," he moaned, running a hand through his hair to settle it. "I miss the blankets and the mattress and the pillow. Once we get back, I'm never leaving it again, my lovely lady!" He hugged his pack as if it was a comfortable cushion, burying his face in it with a moan. Arthur couldn't hide a chuckle as effectively as the night before, which had both Greene and Alfred looking at him in shock.

"What?" he demanded, getting to feet and looking very flustered indeed. Alfred was grinning like a lunatic, and Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. "What's that _look_ for?"

"What _look_?" Alfred asked innocently as he packed his own things up and buried the embers.

"_That_ look!" Arthur snapped, waving his arms at Alfred.

"I'm not _looking_ at you in any particular way," Alfred said with innocence that fooled no one.

Alfred had been singing loudly and annoying all morning. Most of them were bawdy peasant songs of the kind sung in taverns, and the remainder silly children's rhymes, but they'd help pass most of the day. Greene had come to sit on Arthur's shoulder, his paws pressed to his ears in pain, and Arthur had continuously demanded he belt up or he would curse him something _awful_, but Alfred had gleefully ignored him. Eventually, though, he'd run out of steam, and now they were finally walked in silence. For some reason Arthur could not fathom, today did not seem as tiring, even if they were now walking along dangerous paths. They passed sheer rock faces of bare grey rock, boulders littering the path from the shifting cliffs above them. It was dangerous, and Alfred was right to stay silent. Now, however, they had entered the forest again. The path wasn't as steep as either expected, but there was time for that yet. There wasn't much noise apart from the odd bird singing every now and again, but it was peaceful.

They'd been walking for a while when Arthur stopped and looked back, a crease between his impressive eyebrows. There was a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, one he could not pinpoint. Something, although he did not know what, felt very, very wrong.

Greene seemed to sense it too, because the wolpertinger's ears were flat against his skull and he was staring into the forest all around them, breathing heavily. The trees were close and dark, and none of them could see very far. Alfred had stopped a little way further along the path, his hand on the grip of his sword.

"Arthur…" he murmured. Arthur gripped his staff tightly, the tip burning brightly and his hand flaring up with green flame. All around them was silent, stuffy and thick. It seemed as if the very air was waiting.

The attack was sudden even though they had been expecting it. A crash to their right, trees toppling to their doom and an almighty roar were the only things that warned them before a huge club pounded the ground between them, making the very earth quake beneath their feet.

"TROLL!" Alfred yelled, diving to his left as Arthur dove to the right. Greene took flight, speeding up to the trees and out of harm's way. The huge grey, boulder-like mass roared at them again, its steps making the ground shudder and snow fall heavily from the trees surrounding them. The creature took a swipe with its left arm, narrowly missing Arthur as the mage ducked to his knees. Alfred rolled away to avoid being flattened by the immense pinewood cudgel.

The troll was hideous. Its face was nought but a contorted morass of flat features, its eyes small and its maw huge, its teeth yellow tombstones against vivid red. Its skin was grey and it wore nothing but a filthy piece of ripped animal skin around it. It was quite possibly the ugliest thing Arthur had ever seen outside a book.

"Alfred! Distract it!" Arthur cried, stumbling backwards to get to a safer spot along the path. If he wasn't far enough away, the troll could easily enough interrupt any spell he tried to cast. He needed his concentration.

The troll, however, was having none of it. It wanted Arthur. It lurched after him, bellowing all the while, its club raised high above its head. It let out a horrible deep shriek when Alfred launched himself at it, his sword cutting a deep welt in the creature's back. Not enough to stop it, of course – trolls were made of sterner stuff than that – and it turned on the warrior, who easily danced out of the way of every wide swing the troll made at him. Arthur began shouting into the air, a wind whipping up out of nowhere and blowing his robes and cloak about him.

Alfred chose that moment to trip and fall, swearing loudly. Arthur swore as well, the spell halfway done dissolving into nothing. The troll lifted its great club once more, ready to strike as Alfred scrambled to his feet, slipping on the compacted snow, and Arthur did something terribly stupid for a mage. He sprinted forwards, slamming into the beast's side and diverting its attention from Alfred.

The troll roared again, turning with speed Arthur had not expected and knocking the mage back, fifteen feet down the path and into the snow. He did not move.

"Arthur!" Greene cried, swopping down from the trees and hurtling to Arthur's side. "Arthur, wake up!"

Alfred swore loudly and with a shout, sword forward, charged at the troll. It barely sank into the monster's thick hide, but the troll did not retaliate. It made a stupid lowing noise, slipped easily off Alfred's sword and lumbered off into the trees.

"Yeah! Yeah, you run, bastard!" Alfred yelled after it, nodding brusquely.

"Alfred!"

Alfred wrenched his eyes away from where the troll had disappeared into the gloom and ran down the path, skidding to his knees beside Arthur's still body.

"Shit," he muttered. "Shit shit shit shit _shit _…"

There was a rock next to Arthur's head, stained with blood. There was no colour in the mage's cheeks. Alfred yanked off a glove and pressed two fingers to Arthur's throat. There was a pulse, faint, but there.

"Where's his staff?" Alfred demanded. Greene swept off to look for it, and quickly found it under a fir tree.

"Here!"

Rushing over, Alfred picked it up and strapped it to his back, placing his sword back in its scabbard. Biting his lip, Alfred then pulled his glove back on and gently slid his arms under Arthur's limp form, lifting him up. Snow was starting to fall around them, becoming thicker and thicker, and both the warrior and the wolpertinger knew it would only get worse the longer they stayed there.

"C'mon, we need shelter!" Alfred said. The wind was picking up, blowing his hair around, and it held the promise of a blizzard. Greene nodded darting off down the path, his wings beating quickly. Alfred followed as fast as he dared without jerking Arthur too much.

"Hang in there, Arthur," he whispered, looking down at the mage cradled against his chest. "You'll be all right. Don't die on me, now."

"I found a cave!" Greene called, and Alfred could just make out the small, viridian creature against the mouth of a large, sheltered cave.

"No bears?" Alfred demanded. Greene replied in the negative, and Alfred rushed towards the grotto, holding Arthur as gently as he could while still rushing. The wind was harder down, the snowflakes stinging his exposed face like tiny shards of glass. It felt like no snow he'd ever encountered before, sharp and cruel. He stumbled up a steeper rise that veered from the path, nearly slipping once or twice on the ground that offered little to no purchase, until he finally reached the cave. Gently he placed Arthur on the ground, quickly laying his and the mage's bedrolls on the ground before shifting Arthur onto them. He covered the other man with his cloak, wrapping his own tightly around himself.

He knelt next to Arthur, biting his lip. Slowly, tentatively, he removed his glove once more and ran his hand through Arthur's hair. Tears smarted at the corners of his eyes, and he felt so powerless as the mage's breathing grew evermore shallow.

"I'm so, so sorry, Arthur," he murmured. "I should have defended you better."

He rubbed at his eyes stubbornly, trying to hold his sadness and frustration back. Greene, was huddled at his side, and Alfred noticed his breathing was growing shallower with Arthur's. He placed a large, comforting hand on the wolpertinger's back and stroked him gently. Greene whimpered slightly, shivering in the cold air of the cave. With his other hand, Alfred took one of Arthur's and held it tightly, rubbing slowly with his thumb. Arthur was growing cold, his chest barely moving, and although Alfred had stopped the head wound as well as he could, blood still oozed lazily into the ripped spare shirt, abandoning the sinking ship.

"We need help," Greene said, his voice frail with weakness.

"There's no one to help us," Alfred murmured. Arthur was going to die.

"Oh, really? There is not?"

Alfred's head snapped up and he grabbed quickly for his sword. It skittered away from his fingers as laughter reached his ears, and he could do nothing but stare in horrified wonder as the snow outside swept in, spinning in a dizzying flurry of white until it took shape. The shape of a tall, thin, terrifying man, with sheer cold in his eyes and a smile like thick frost on crops. He wore a long back coat and tall black boots, and he stood there like the cruel clutch of fell winter itself.

"W-who…?" Alfred could not finish the sentence. He was petrified. The man laughed, and it sound like freezing wind whipping around the cave.

"They call me General Winter," he said. "This is my cave, this is my mountain. I heard you are needing help?"

Alfred chanced to tear his eyes off the imposing spirit at the mouth of the cave and glance at Arthur. Greene was cowering in terror beside Arthur, ears flat and nostrils flared.

"My mage… He's injured, he won't make it…" Alfred swallowed. "Can you do anything?"

General Winter scratched his beard thoughtfully, and there was hunger's shine in his eyes. "Perhaps. What do you have to offer?"

Alfred bit his lip. "I… I don't have much money on me, I can't offer you more than a few crowns…"

The general waved his hand with a scornful laugh. "Please, I am not needing money. There is gold deep in my mountains enough to make richest of your kings seem poor. No, I am wanting something more… useful."

Alfred felt like meat on a platter under that scrutinising gaze. He shuddered as those frozen eyes raked over him like claws.

"You would do nicely, mortal," General Winter said. Alfred paled.

"But… But my mage! He can't go on on his own, I have to be there for him!" he protested. He took Arthur's hand in his own shuddering ones. The general merely laughed, coldly and viciously, as if human feelings were nothing compared to his petty whims.

"Oh, how touching!" he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Are you wanting to save him or not?"

Alfred covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes darting between General Winter and Arthur. Arthur, who was barely hanging on a thread. Arthur, who would surely die if Alfred did not do _something_.

"I…"

"Very well, I have bargain for you," General Winter said, suddenly all business. "I shall give you five years. Five years with your mage, five years with which to do what you wish, and then you shall belong to me."

"Five years…?"

"No more, no less."

Alfred stared unseeingly at Arthur's hand. Five years was a long time. There was a lot he could do in five years. He and Arthur could travel the world, save people, do what mages and guardians did. Five years was forever.

And yet he knew, in his heart, five years would never, _ever_ be enough time to spend with Arthur. Stubborn, foolish, haughty, disillusioned, beautiful Arthur. Arthur, who Alfred wanted to have for his own, for the rest of his life. Arthur, who he wanted to protect and make realise there was something to live, that saving people was good and that he would be the best guardian in the world. Abrasive, bad-tempered Arthur whom Alfred found so stupidly endearing it wasn't even funny. Arthur, whom Alfred was slowly but surely going to inexorably fall for.

Five years was better than no years at all. Five years with Arthur was better than the rest of his life without him.

Alfred raised his head, his expression determined. Greene gasped, and weakly tugged on Alfred's tunic with his teeth.

"Don't do it, Alfred!" he pleaded. General Winter, who had been inspecting his nails carelessly, smiled a wolfish smile with sharp teeth on parade and looked at Alfred expectantly.

"Well, little mortal Alfred?"

Alfred took a deep breath, squeezed Arthur's hand and nodded. "I accept."

General Winter clapped his hands with an admiringly bow of his head. "Very good, very good, I am admiring you greatly. Now come hither, we must make contract."

Alfred stood on shaking legs, easily pushing a feeble Greene away from him, and strode over to stand in front of the general. The spirit of winter itself, spread his arms, and a gust of rushing snow blew into the cave and surrounded them both, General Winter body appeared to dissolve, and yet it was still there, still a form in the flurry of white that stung every part of Alfred's body. It was mortally cold, and seeped into his very bones. He'd never felt so cold in his life. The general's hand reached forward, aimed at his chest, and his fingers of snow dove beneath Alfred's skin, digging into his flesh to bestow a mark that would never be removed. The freezing cold burnt into Alfred right above his heart, seeping in and making his blood freeze to lava.

"Remember contract, Alfred," said General Winter, voice as frozen and empty as the stretches of space beyond the stars, and all around Alfred went black.

.

Arthur awoke with a throbbing pain in his head. It started at the back and worked its agonising way to the front, behind his eyes. He groaned weakly, his eyes fluttering, and suddenly there were hands around one of his, clutching it tightly to a strong chest. Cold, soft fur and a chilly wet nose rubbed against his cheek, soft, light whimpering in his ear.

"Thank mercy he's awake," breathed a voice somewhere above him, and Arthur risked opening his eyes a crack. Sure enough, a blurry face soon drifted into focus, and he was staring into eyes as blue as the summer sky. Eyes that were full of relief and… and something much deeper, something Arthur couldn't fathom.

"Oh, stop being such a drama queen," Arthur croaked, and he heard Greene sob near his ear, trying to burrow into his neck desperately.

"We were so worried, Arthur! We thought you were going to die!"

"Well, I'm here now…" Arthur muttered, sitting up shakily. He held his head with a groan as everything swam before his eyes. "Gods, I feel awful…"

"You were out cold for a whole day," Alfred said. He seemed to finally realise he was still holding Arthur's hand, and quickly dropped it. A vivid blush splashed across his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. "So, um… when you're feeling better, we'll start moving. You should eat something. I've started a fire, I'm boiling up some water for you to drink. Trust you to bring tea…" He chuckled as he waved a hand behind him. He was obviously nervous, although Arthur couldn't for the life of him think why.

"We should really get back on the road…" Arthur said, biting his lip. Both Alfred and Greene scowled at him.

"No way!" Alfred growled. "You're staying here until you're fit! I'm not having you fainting halfway there, damn it!"

He harrumphed, taking the small tin pot from the fire and placing it in a small pile of snow by the entrance to cool it slightly. He then handed it to Arthur, who drank greedily. He could feel the warmth of the drink spreading down into him, and he felt so much better. He noticed Alfred was drinking it too, and Arthur couldn't help but smiling into his cup at the adorable hypocrisy of it. He froze, his eyes widening.

Had he just thought of Alfred as 'adorable'? He must be mad, really! Probably the knock on the head, made him feel a little out of it. And he most certainly was not blushing in the slightest.

"Well, i-if you want… We can set out tomorrow. But no later!" Arthur added warningly, pointing a threatening finger in Alfred's face. The warrior laughed and shrugged.

"Fine by me, Artie!" he said cheerfully, getting to his feet.

"Don't call me 'Artie'," Arthur snapped, glowering. 'Adorable' his arse. Alfred was nothing but irritating.

"Whatever you say, Artie!"

"Ugh, you do it on purpose!"

.

End of Part Two


	3. Part Three

Part Three

A/n: for users: please, if you're going to review, enable private messaging so I can answer. Because I will not answer anything in a/n's.

.

Arthur awoke slowly. His head still ached, a dull, throb behind his eyes, although it had lessened considerably since the day before. It didn't quite demand his attention so much. What did demand his attention, however, was the warmth and weight around him.

As his mind slowly defogged itself from sleep, he realised that there was something around his chest holding him tight to something large and secure. Soft breathing disturbed the scruffy hair at the base of his neck, its warmth halfway between comforting and irritating. His stomach felt as if it was being dipped in a frozen lake as he grasped that _Alfred was holding him_.

Arthur went rigid, unsure of what to do next. He certainly wasn't used to this, and he had no idea what to do in such situations. And, to his horror, he also realised he didn't actually dislike the feeling all that much. It felt safe, in Alfred's arms. It felt as if all the protection he would ever need in the world was there, around him, at that moment, so soothing and secure. Nothing would hurt him again as long as Alfred held him close like this. He'd never felt anything like this before in his entire life. Was this what other mages felt like with their guardians? Was this warm bloom in his chest normal?

He slowly relaxed, allowing himself to breath once again. His face, however, had turned brilliant red and didn't show signs of mellowing out anytime soon. It was justifiable, he supposed. With a sigh he merely lay there, absently wondering when Alfred would awaken and whether it was right to feel like this. The fluttering of his heart and the small somersaults his stomach was doing… were they standard fare for a mage to feel towards his guardian?

Alfred began to stir, rousing Arthur from his thoughts. He wondered how Alfred would react to this… position they were in. Oh, God, that made it sound so wrong, didn't it? With a yawn that was extremely close to Arthur's ear, Alfred snuggled deeper into his neck, which just made Arthur go even redder than before. He scowled when he heard slight sniggering.

"Shut up, Greene," he ground out between his teeth. He couldn't really think straight when Alfred was pressed against him like this.

"Er, Alfred… D-don't you think we should get up?" he asked weakly. Greene continued to snigger in the background. Behind Arthur, Alfred mumbled something incomprehensible. Then there was silence for a heartbeat or two, before Alfred ripped his arms from around Arthur and backed away.

"S-s-sorry, I didn't mean that!" he babbled, his face a gaudy red. He was obviously trying not to look at Arthur, instead staring at everything else he could lay his eyes on. Greene had long since degenerated into throes of incontrollable mirth, which only made the awkwardness worse.

"No, it's quite alright – I mean, it's fine, it doesn't matter…" Arthur stammered, waving a hand dismissively before he got to his feet. At least the pain had receded somewhat thanks to… whatever he could call the situation. Alfred offered a feeble grin as he stood up himself.

The two made their way around the cave, clearing it and preparing to set off. They seemed to get in each other's way more often than not, causing them both to apologise and avoid looking at one another.

"You two are impossible, you know that?" Greene said in disgust the fourth time this happened. He flew out of the cave, shaking his head, leaving Arthur and Alfred to pretend to wonder what he was talking about, even though both knew perfectly well.

.

The sky was thick and pearly white when they set off again. Everything around them was still and muffled, obviously preparing for something nasty. There was no edge to it as when the troll attacked them, but there was evident anticipation. Alfred glared up at the heavens as if they had done him a great personal wrong.

"Looks like our good luck is running out," he muttered. "Snow's on the way."

Arthur groaned. "Oh, that's all we need, a blizzard!"

"Hopefully it'll just be a brief snowstorm," Alfred said optimistically. "Greene should go look for shelter though."

The wolpertinger glared at Alfred, as if the very idea was ludicrous and Alfred should be ashamed of himself for such a suggestion, but a light tap on the rump from Arthur's staff had him take to the air and swoop away. While the familiar was gone, snow began to fall, a little half-heartedly at first, seemingly testing the waters. By the time Greene returned, the flakes were thicker and more determined, and all three were glad to reach the sheltered overhang Greene had found.

"We're going to make awful time," Arthur remarked, tugging his cloak further around him with a scowl. Alfred sighed, poking at the small fire he'd gotten started.

"It was inevitable," he said. "We've made good time so far. It might let up, although I wouldn't bet on it. We've had deceptively decent weather these last few days, it was bound to happen eventually. But, hey," he grinned at Arthur, "we made it this far!"

"I wish I shared your optimism," Arthur drawled, tugging the clasp of his cloak over his nose and huddling into his clothes. Greene had burrowed into his hood and was dozing. The silence dragged on for a while, broken only by the discreet crackling of the fire, and Alfred snapping a stick or two. Unlike before, however, it wasn't awkward, rather… pleasant, in a way. It was a comfortable silence Arthur had never really been a part of before. Until Alfred broke it.

"So, you have brothers?" he asked curiously. Arthur groaned.

"I hate talking about them," he mumbled. In the end, whenever he brought up Andrew, Patrick and David, everyone always preferred them to him.

"Why? Are they, like, bullies or something? Because I hate bullies. There were loads in the Academy and I hated them all, picking on bards and healers like it's a good thing to do… man, I just wanted to punch them all."

"And did you ever act on those urges?" Arthur asked with a brief smile. The more he learnt about Alfred, the more he realised the boy had a true need to help people. Maybe he'd taken the compulsory reading of old epic tales the Academy demanded a little bit too much to heart. Alfred grinned sheepishly.

"Once or twice," he admitted. "I got disciplined for it, but at least the bullies did too. I'm apparently a very convincing character, and I wasn't lying, so… Master Gilbert got pissed. He's a bit of a bully himself, though his heart's in the right place…"

Arthur's eyebrows rose in surprise. He'd heard plenty of tales about Gilbert the Black Eagle, none of them particularly pleasant. Gilbert and his mage were sent into warzones and dealt with a foot-long list of particularly nasty and difficult creatures, missions most mages and guardians would rather resign than take up, and it had hardened them both considerably. But, Arthur supposed, as Gilbert's student Alfred would know him well.

"Who was your master?"

Alfred's question shook Arthur from his thoughts, and he shrugged. "My master was Eirik of Askeland. His guardian's Mathias Køhler, if it rings a bell…"

Alfred sniggered. "Oh yeah, Master Gilbert had nothing nice to say about _him_," he said. "But then they go drinking together and I don't get it. If they don't like each other, why go to the tavern and get drunk together?"

Arthur shook his head with a laugh. "I've heard Master Roderich is high-maintenance, and I know for a fact Master Eirik is."

Alfred smirked deviously, and Arthur realised he'd driven himself into a corner.

"Kind of like you, huh?" Alfred asked teasingly. Arthur grumbled something unintelligible which simply made Alfred laugh as he tossed another stick on the fire.

In the meantime, the snow worsened considerably, which meant that they probably wouldn't get any distance covered that day. Arthur dozed off his headache and Alfred kept watch, sometimes humming or singing to himself. It was all very boring and very tiresome.

The snow finally stopped sometime in the late afternoon, when the sun was already fleeing quickly beyond the horizon. With a yawn Alfred stretched and stepped out. The chilly air slapped his cheeks, and he shivered. He could almost imagine an unpleasant laugh on the wind, cold and cruel and delighting in the pain in his chest, the dull ache of a cold blue brand on his skin. His hand wandered of its own accord to press over his heart as he frowned into the growing gloom. So lost in his thoughts was he that when Greene landed on his shoulder he jumped.

"It's me!"

"Damn, Greene…" Alfred shook his head and clutched at his heart, for an entirely different reason now, and glowered at the wolpertinger. "Thanks. I could do with a heart attack."

Greene had the grace to look ashamed. "Sorry," he muttered. He glanced back at Arthur, making sure he was truly asleep, before turning back to Alfred. "Are you going to tell him?"

Alfred eyed the familiar as if he was mad. "Are you nuts? And get myself ripped a new one? He'll never forgive me for doing that, it's better if he doesn't know."

"But you can't lie to him, Alfred…" Greene said reproachfully. Alfred scoffed.

"Are you always this whiny?" he asked. Greene ignored that and gave Alfred's chest a pointed look.

"Does it hurt?"

"It aches for now," he replied absently, shrugging. "It'll stop in time."

"What will stop?"

Arthur's voice was mistrustful. Alfred carefully erased all worried looks from his features and turned around with a grin. "The snow! And it has! We can't continue tonight, but hopefully it'll be ok tomorrow."

It was amazing how one raised eyebrow could convey such scepticism, but Arthur did not elaborate on his suspicion. He merely yawned and stretched, rubbing his back against the stone he leant against to scratch it. "So tomorrow we might be able to head out again?"

"Seems like it." Alfred flopped down next to Arthur again with a groan. "Best get some sleep."

Arthur muttered a few words, pointing his staff at various parts of their encampment until a light veil of green light fell, and it suddenly felt warmer and more protected in their little enclave. The mage waited until Alfred had bedded down and was seemingly asleep before fixing Greene with a long, penetrating gaze.

"What were you two discussing?" he asked. Greene wasn't very good at not glancing down guiltily, but he shrugged it off.

"The weather," he mumbled, hopping over to where Alfred slept and burrowing into his arms. Arthur scowled.

"Traitor," he muttered, settling down to get some sleep of his own.

.

The next day was still white, but certainly more agreeable than the day before. It didn't so much threaten snow as consider the matter, pondering it in depth before it made up its mind. Alfred and Arthur had to make use of their snow shoes again, and soon both realised they were going to reach the pass within the day, and maybe pass it too. The trees had long since given out to plains of snow and bare rock here and there. The pass itself was nothing more than a wide crevice between two stern cliff faces, kept clean by the efforts of the people that came through. A small hut was on the right, no doubt where the toll master lived during the busy summer months. It was empty now, however, vacant and dreary-looking, but it was a welcome sight nonetheless.

"Are we going to try and make it past the pass before nightfall?" Alfred asked, throwing his pack on the ground and pulling out a rough-looking map. Arthur peered up at the sky and shrugged.

"If we can. We do need to make up for yesterday, after all, and when I was, er, _convalescent_, shall we say." His ears turned red in embarrassment at that. He certainly didn't want to be a burden. He'd made it on his own this far in life, without a guardian, he didn't need one now. Alfred didn't seem to notice Arthur's inner turmoil. He merely sighed and rolled the map up again, sticking it back in its place.

"I reckon we can make it if we push hard enough," Alfred said, slinging his pack over his back once more as he stood. "You feeling up to it?" he asked. Arthur glowered at him.

"Of course I do!" he snapped, stomping off down the path as well as he could in fir branch snowshoes. "I'm not some girl you have to look after!"

Alfred winced and hurried to catch up. "I didn't mean it like that, Arthur," he said, folding his arms in irritation. Arthur stopped and turned, and he looked positively furious.

"How did you mean it then, Alfred?" he asked, his tone deceptively calm and diplomatic. "How so?"

Greene shook his head fervently, knowing better than to anger Arthur further, but Alfred ignored him.

"I meant that you had a severe head injury less than three days ago. You're damn lucky you're not bleeding in your brain or something. I don't want you to drop dead halfway, you know." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I care about you, as much as you don't seem to think it."

All of the self-righteous anger Arthur had felt up to that moment merely flowed out of him, leaving him empty and humbled. He lowered his gaze to the ground, flushing slightly, tightening the grip on his staff.

"I-I don't need to be mollycoddled," he mumbled. Alfred chuckled.

"I'm not mollycoddling you, Arthur," he said. Arthur stiffened when Alfred's hand touched his shoulder, but he relaxed under it. It felt strangely… good, to be on the receiving end of such a reassuring gesture. "I'm looking out for you. It's different. It's what friends do."

Arthur couldn't help but look up and stare at Alfred at that, his mouth wide in shock. Friends? Alfred considered them _friends_? "W-w-what…?"

Alfred just laughed again and set off, whistling some inane tune. Greene giggled by Arthur's ear, but the mage was still in shock. It took him several moments before he managed to move, struggling to catch up with the warrior's long strides even through heavy snow.

"D-did you mean that?" he asked, and he despised the hopeful tone that crept into his voice. "That you consider us… friends?" It was a difficult word to get out, he discovered. Alfred smiled, a smile like the summer sun warm enough to melt the snow around them.

"If you want us to be," he said easily. "I know I wouldn't mind."

Arthur tried to resist his own smile. It threatened heavily at the corners of his mouth until he could struggle against it no longer and it broke out, lighting his face up in a way it hadn't in years.

.

The air in the mountain pass was stale, still and cold as they trudged through the thick snow. The shadow were long and everything was eerily quiet. Sheer faces of dark grey, formidable rock rose up on either side, judgemental and threatening. The prickly, cold feeling of being watched was upon their necks. No one made a sound as they passed through. Perhaps it was for fear of retribution for disturbing the unnerving stillness and muted air. As stupid as it sounded, and as much as none of them would admit it except perhaps Greene, no one wanted to test their theory.

It took them two hours to head through the pass, and once it was far behind and they could think of the journey ahead, they breathed sighs of relief. Alfred made Arthur go first, and although the mage wanted to complain, he knew better than to do so. They trudged along down the invisible path, towards a patch of sparse pine trees, and Alfred dared a glance behind him. He wished he hadn't. Something darted through the long shadows in the pass, something of human shape but not movement, black and terrifying. It filled the pit of his stomach with deep, icy terror and he tore his eyes forward again, trying not to tremble. Again, they didn't speak until they were among the trees.

"Is everything all right?" Greene murmured. Arthur looked back, frowning. Alfred nodded jerkily.

"I'm just glad we didn't stick around up there," he muttered. Arthur nodded in turn, rubbing his arms.

"It was a horrible place," he said. "Somehow, though, I don't think it's like that in the summer."

"Neither do I," Greene whispered, huddling into Arthur's neck. Alfred once again went forward, and they continued on their heavy journey once more, the chilly feelings of fear being slowly left behind as they headed downhill.

.

"Alfred, I want to know… why on Earth you bothered with me at all?" Arthur asked, biting his lip nervously. Alfred stopped and looked back, puzzled.

"Why d'you ask?"

Arthur sighed. "I've never been anything but horrible to you since we first met," he muttered. "I'm surprised you didn't leave within the first day, the way I treated you…"

Alfred merely laughed. "When I saw you blush when we first met I thought it was cute."

Arthur groaned and buried his face in his hands. "You saw that?"

"Oh yeah, hard not to, really. You were kind of, uh, staring." Alfred grinned sheepishly, and Greene sniggered from behind his paw. Arthur wished the ground would swallow him up so he wouldn't have to live through this humiliation.

"B-but even then… I was ghastly."

Alfred shrugged and turned to stare at the snowy ground. He looked, of all things, slightly embarrassed. "To be frank, I was actually kind of happy you didn't like me. Everyone else likes me right away, or at least pretends to – except Master Gilbert, but then again, Master Gilbert _is_ a bit of a dick – because they think I'm attractive… I had to work with you. You hated me, and I saw that as refreshing. And… well, I guess I just thought you needed someone to be there. You needed rescuing from something inside you." He raised his head again, and looked straight into Arthur's eyes. "I wanted to be your hero."

Arthur blushed to the roots of his hair and pressed his hand to his mouth. There was something so sincere and pure in the way Alfred spoke. The way he stood there, open and honest… Arthur didn't think anyone had ever spoken to him like that before. Alfred seemed to realise Arthur wasn't going to answer, and set off down the path again, the slump in his shoulders showing his regret at being so open.

"Alfred…"

Arthur slid down the path slightly and took Alfred's wrist. The warrior stopped and turned again, looking hopeful. Arthur could feel his cheeks burn vividly as he stared at Alfred's shoulder. He daren't look him in the eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured. He didn't need to look up to see Alfred's brilliant smile. It was etched into him, burning brightly in his mind's eyes. And he couldn't help it. He glanced up and smiled a little himself.

"And Greene told me you were really nice when you wanted to be," Alfred added teasingly. Arthur glared at the wolpertinger, who giggled again. Alfred joined in the chuckled, and pressed a finger between Arthur's eyebrows.

"You should smile more, Arthur," he said. "It suits you."

The blush that had finally receded from Arthur's face came back furiously and he aimed a punch at Alfred's shoulder, which just made the warrior laugh.

.

They made better speed on the way down the other side of the mountain. Pulling out the map once they'd prepared a shelter for the night, Alfred made a few quick calculations. Arthur was surprised the boy was so good with numbers: he certainly didn't seem the type.

"According to my numbers, and they aren't wrong –"

"You sound very sure," said Arthur with a smirk. Alfred stuck his tongue out before continuing.

"We should be about…" he poked a thin stick at a point on the map, halfway down the mountain. "here."

Arthur leant closer and studied the chart. "We've made good progress today. Peculiar."

"I reckon it's because we're nearer our destination. A downhill breeze, as it were." Alfred scratched his head with the stick. "I'm not gonna complain. The sooner we're down, the sooner we'll be heroes."

Arthur's nose wrinkled at that. "Don't be too sure, Alfred," he said warningly. "Don't go tempting fate."

Alfred grinned. "Don't worry, Artie, I'm the best warrior and you're the best mage, what can go wrong?"

.

Greene waited until he was sure Arthur was asleep to hop over to where Alfred sat. He wasn't sleeping, just staring into the night, leaning against the fir tree they'd chosen as refuge.

"You're really not going to tell him, are you?" said the wolpertinger despairingly. Alfred looked away, scowling.

"The less he knows about it, the better," he muttered. Greene huffed, fluttering up onto Alfred's knees.

"You know you can't keep it a secret forever!" he hissed. Alfred sighed.

"Greene, it's better this way," he said. His tone indicated the conversation was very clearly over before it had even started. The familiar shook his rabbity head and returned to Arthur's side forlornly. Alfred cursed under his breath and bedded down, falling into a fitful sleep full of cold winds, twisted black monsters and icy laughter.

.

It was rather sudden. First they were heading through a mixed forest of evergreens and deciduous trees, the former looking smug next to the latter, which just looked sad, and then… and then they passed a burnt homestead. It was black and broken, like a beast whose innards had been picked clean, stark ribs sticking out from it. A fresh sprinkling of snow laid upon the wooden beams that poked from the ruins. Alfred shuddered. He could almost hear the laughter on the wind, as if nature were scorning the dead.

Arthur slowly picked his way into the ruin, making the sign of the Elder Goddess sadly as he looked around. "Nothing of interest," he said. "Whatever was worth anything has been taken."

"Are there any bodies?" Alfred asked shakily, stepping into what must once have been a main room alongside Arthur. Arthur shook his head, taking a deep breath.

"Orcs usually eat any meat they can get hold of, there's not much on the Moors… It's almost understandable that they attack the villages, and this has been a long and horrible winter…" He lapsed into silence, shaking his head. "We should press on. It will only get worse as we go."

With one last look around the place, both left, leaving the blackened remnants of what had once been someone's entire life behind.

.

As Arthur had predicted, the further they got to their destination, the more remains of skirmish and bloodshed could be seen. They had left the trees behind, and they could see the sick-looking shadow of the village a few miles away. Here and there on the white snow were scattered carts and gutted horses, and a few dead bodies, all charred black. Alfred covered his mouth with his hands, shaking his head.

"You're not used to this, are you?" Arthur murmured. Alfred looked at him.

"You are?" he asked sceptically. Arthur sighed.

"My father's lands are on the edge of Fellmoore. There are orcs just like these there, as well. Although not all orcs are the same. Hobgoblins aren't such a bad lot. Goblins are sly bastards, but in the end it's really the orcs you've got to watch. They say the Nameless One made them from corrupted dwarf and hobgoblin hybrids, perverting them until they were nothing like they used to be… I'd take that with a pinch of salt, though."

"You know an awful lot of stuff," Alfred said, sounding mildly impressed. Arthur glared at him with a snort.

"I'm a mage, I'm supposed to be erudite, aren't I? You're the muscle, I'm the brains. I'm not sure what Greene could be."

The wolpertinger made an indignant noise, and Alfred laughed despite himself. "Your lovely assistant."

"He's not very lovely. He can be my passable assistant."

It seemed a little soulless to be laughing in the face of something as ghastly as what lay around them, but they couldn't help it. It seemed, horrible as it sounded, the right thing to do. Especially as Greene did lend himself to comical moments, however involuntarily.

They continued along the road, now quiet and alert, eyes darting in the rocks that lined either side of their path. They were quite out in the open, and not one of them liked it. Alfred's hand remained on the grip of his sword and Arthur's fingers prickled with a spell ready to be thrown without a moment's hesitation.

The attack itself was sudden, with only a strangled, guttural howl to announce it. Alfred whirled around, his sword at the ready, and Arthur's hand rose to send the spell flying, but all they saw was a dead orc. It fell to the ground in a clattering thump, muffled on the snow, an arrow through the back of its neck. The two looked up, still prepared for anything.

Arthur babbled a shield spell when a figure sprang upon the rock from which the orc had fallen, but it certainly didn't seem like an orc. It wore a long white cloak, which would have made it blend in against the pearly sky if it hadn't been wearing black beneath it. In its hands it held a bow, an arrow half-nocked.

"Are you the mage and guardian the Tower sent?" the figure called out. It's voice confirmed it a male, and its accent was heavily north-eastern, of one of the many nomadic tribes that had wandered the woods and steppes for centuries.

"Yes," Alfred answered. The man replaced the arrow in his quiver and leapt down the rocks, sure-footed as a goat. He landed gracefully by the side of the road, straightening and removing his hood. He was dark, but his skin was pale, and his eyes were hazel, more golden than green. He was tall and moved with almost cat-like grace, and something about him spoke of him not being entirely human. There was definitely elf blood in his veins. He studied them, his face impassive for a moment before breaking into a grateful smile. He deflated somewhat, his stance going from guarded to relieved.

"Thank Tarma, I thought you would never get here," he said, and to both Arthur and Alfred's surprise, he embraced them both.

"Who –" Arthur began, but he was cut off by a raised hand.

"Introductions can be made once we are inside the village. It is not safe to talk out here."

And with that the man headed off down the road, his stride brisk and quick enough to warrant even Alfred jogging to keep up. The village gates soon loomed ahead, and they bore the signs of siege. They were fire-scarred and heavily guarded. Two men stood on guard towers on either side. Around the village, stretched out from the gate itself, were stone walls, obviously built to withstand most anything the Moor orcs could throw at them. As soon as they were close, the gates were opened and the man who had found them led them in.

Waiting for them was a small gaggle of men and one or two women, at the forefront of which was tall, muscular man with a greying brown beard and bleak grey eyes. His arms were folded across his barrel chest, and he had a hammer at his belt. The blacksmith, clearly.

"Well?" he demanded. The nomad grinned.

"I said they would arrive," he said, not without a note of triumph in his voice. "And here they are." He waved at Alfred and Arthur, who felt all of a sudden exceptionally nervous. Everyone's eyes were on them, and even Alfred looked suitably anxious. The blacksmith eyed them appraisingly, and he snorted.

"That's what the mighty Azure Tower sends us? A boy and a pansy?" he sneered. There was some laughter scattered in the group, and it was unamused. Mostly, though, there was merely head-shaking, and expressions of hopelessness. Arthur however, wouldn't stand being talked about like that. He stomped forward before Alfred could stop him and glowered up at the man, undaunted by his breadth and height.

"See here, you! Be grateful the Tower had someone to send! We're stretched thin across the continent helping everyone we can get to! You're not the only people in need out there, you know!"

The man glared down, bristling. Alfred groaned and grabbed Arthur around the waist dragging him back. The nomad raised an eyebrow.

"He is right. They are already more than I expected. When I sent the message I was not hoping for anyone at all." He smiled at the new arrivals. "I am Dragomir. I sent word to the Tower for aid. Even though you are clearly green novices, I am glad of even a little help." He spent a moment studying Arthur. "Are you Kirkland?" he asked.

Arthur nodded, throwing Alfred off him. "Yes."

"Eirik of Askeland is a great mage. I am glad to have his apprentice here. And you are…?" He turned to Alfred. The warrior cleared his throat and grinned.

"Alfred Jones, Master Dragomir," he said. Dragomir chuckled.

"There is no need for formality, Alfred. We are all doomed together, here. Oh, and gruff as he is, this is Brenhald, he is the village… leader?"

"I am the blacksmith, if that's what you're wondering," the man said, confirming the obvious. "I hope you two can pull your weight around here, young as you are. Now what did you find?" This was to Dragomir. The guardian ran a hand through his hair.

"I killed a scout. There will probably be an attack tomorrow or the day after. We should make preparations."

Brenhald nodded and dismissed the people around him, who scurried off to tend to whatever duties they had. Dragomir remained and turned once more to Arthur and Alfred.

Please tell me you have the antidote with you?" he asked. He sounded desperate. Alfred nodded, and Dragomir breathed a sigh of relief. "Come with me."

He headed across the village, towards a large building with a sign swinging above the door in the shape of a unicorn's head.

"It is good to have a mage that can use magic among us once more."

"A mage that can use magic?" Arthur asked as they entered, heading up the stairs. Dragomir did not answer, merely leading them into a room at the end of a long hallway. The fire was lit, burning with an odd-smelling herb which made the room smell fresh and clear despite the closed heat and the clammy sickness in the air. On a makeshift perch near the window nestled a weak-looking raven, its head under its wing. It didn't even look up when they entered. The bed, beside which was a plain wooden chair where Dragomir sat, taking the pale hand that lay limp on the bed sheets, was in the centre of the room. The man in the bed was pale beneath a heavy red fever-flush. Sandy hair matted with sweat was plastered to his forehead, and his eyes flickered restlessly beneath heavy eyelids. His lips were an unhealthy blue, slightly parted. Arthur almost thought he could see pointed fangs. Perhaps it was merely his imagination.

Dragomir whispered soothingly in a language neither Arthur nor Alfred could understand, tucking strands of hair behind slightly pointed ears. Alfred's heart clenched, and he couldn't help but steal a glance at Arthur. Dragomir looked distraught, wan and it was plain to see his earlier lightness had been a show now he was alone with his mage.

Arthur began rooting in his satchel, pulling out a bundle of cloth embroidered with runes of protection. He gently unwrapped the delicate vial and handed it to Dragomir. "Undiluted," was all he said, retreating to the end of the bed and wrapping a worried hand around the post. Alfred went to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and to his surprise Arthur leant into the touch, shifting closer to him.

Dragomir tilted the other mage's head up and pressed the phial between his lips, pouring the liquid into his mouth. "Swallow it, come on…" he muttered, thumbing the other's throat, coaxing the antidote down as one would with a cat or a dog. The mage's throat moved, and Dragomir sighed with relief.

"Tarma be praised…" he murmured, kissing his mage's forehead with trembling lips. Arthur and Alfred exchanged a smile.

"It'll take a day or two for it to work…" Arthur said. "If we had gotten here sooner it wouldn't take so long. We're very sorry."

Dragomir shook his head, sitting back in his chair. "Do not apologise, the mountains are perilous in winter. The locals have spoken of… something that lurks in the pass in winter. They do not go there. You were exceptionally brave." He offered them a grateful smile. "Kosta is strong, he will make it."

"Is that his name?" Alfred asked. Dragomir chuckled.

"No, his name is Constantin," he said, blushing slightly. "Kosta… is just a nickname."

"You've known each other long?" Arthur enquired.

"We've been mage and guardian for ten years," Dragomir replied. Alfred couldn't help but sneak another glance at Arthur. Would they still be together ten years from now? He caught himself a moment after thinking that. He wouldn't be here in ten years, would he? Gripping the strap of his pack and biting his lip, he asked where they would be sleeping. Dragomir shrugged.

"I don't think it will really matter, do you?" he said. "The inn is empty apart from the innkeeper's family and Constantin and I. Go wherever you wish."

Alfred nodded stiffly and left, much to Arthur's confusion. He wandered aimlessly down the hall, checking a door or two before finding a room with two beds not too far from Constantin's. He dropped his pack to the floor, unclasped his cloak and sat on the bed, placing his head in his hands. Was he always going to be catching himself thinking like this? Making stupid mistakes of time and wishful thinking? He lay down, staring at the ceiling above him. When Arthur came looking for him, he was already asleep.

.

Dragomir spent most of the next day talking to Alfred and taking him around the village, while Arthur stayed with Constantin. The mage's fever had fallen considerably, and Arthur had remarked that this was surprisingly fast. He had also voiced his shock at Constantin lasting so long without healing. Dragomir had said something trivial about the village healer being very good, but neither Alfred nor Arthur was buying it.

Between Alfred and Arthur, however, the air was strained, and Arthur had no idea why. They had come incredibly far, he thought, considering where they had set out from, and he wasn't thinking about the journey at all. Alfred was distant and quiet, quite a departure from the lad's usual demeanour. It worried the mage deeply.

"Something troubles you," Dragomir said. He was peering over the walls inspecting the shot body of another orcish scout. Alfred blinked for a moment, before shrugging.

"It's not something I want to talk about," he said dismissively. Dragomir smirked.

"Then it is something you want kept secret, obviously." He turned to look at him, eyes narrow and shrewd. "Something you do not regret the outcome of, but which will change you."

Alfred stared at him, mouth agape. Dragomir chuckled.

"I do not have quite the sight of my forbears, so I cannot see what it is precisely."

It was Alfred's turn to smirk this time. "I thought you weren't quite human," he said triumphantly. Dragomir arched an eyebrow, and there was something in the movement that was so unmistakeably elven that Alfred almost kicked himself for not noticing it before. That, and the fact that Dragomir appeared to hold Tarma, Lady of Shadows, as his guardian deity…

"You're right," said the nomad, "my mother was a dark elf. I did not inherit very much from her."

"And Constantin?" Alfred pushed. He was quite sure the other wasn't wholly human either. Dragomir glanced around nervously. The nearest guards were yards away, talking something over, and no one was beneath them on the ground.

"Keep this a secret," he murmured, gesturing Alfred closer. "He is half-wraith. Human blood is strong and all he has are the eyes and teeth, but… still, it is not something I would wish to share with these people. They would not understand. I hope you will not be like them," he added coldly, and Alfred could easily see the dark elven part of the other man swimming in the depths of his eyes, chill and feral. Alfred grinned.

"I trained under Gilbert the Black Eagle, and he certainly doesn't keep _his_ heritage secret," he said breezily. Dragomir sniggered.

"Gilbert is arrogant and stubborn, and he has a mage that matches him. Luckily they can afford to be arrogant, with the power they have. Gilbert has inherited a lot of his wraith side. You honestly cannot really tell with Kosta." The man leant back against the wall, folding his arms. Alfred stood beside him, gazing out onto the vast white moor in front of him. It stretched as far as he could see, a foreboding pale wilderness.

"And what of you?" Dragomir asked. "You and your mage do not seem very united."

Alfred lowered his head, chewing his lip nervously. "I… I'm just one of many guardians. I'm trying to be something different, but I'm not sure it's working as well as it should be." He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "I want to be Arthur's guardian, so much, but he doesn't make it easy for me at all."

"Arthur of Kirkland is legendary in that sense. I have heard stories about him, even though I had never met him before now. But do yourself a favour: no matter what this burden you carry is, do not let it come between you. You should talk about it to him, but even if you do not, push it away. The relationship between a mage and a guardian, however you wish it to be, is based on trust. Much like any relationship in this world."

"What are you two talking about?" Arthur demanded, stomping up the stairs to where the two guardians stood. Dragomir shrugged evasively, and Alfred grinned.

"Talking about how lovely and gentle you are," he said. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Twit, I have a wonderful disposition, I'll have you know," he said sniffily.

"For a grouchy old dragon," Alfred countered. He let Arthur shove him with a laugh and settled himself beside the mage easily.

"Gotten over our little funk, have we?" Arthur asked tartly. Alfred's grin faltered slightly, but he nodded.

"Yeah, I was just being an idiot this morning, forget about it."

Arthur had just opened his mouth to speak when a bell rang. Dragomir said something harsh, obviously swearing in his own tongue. He ran along the walkway to where the bell was ringing. Men were scurrying along now, all holding bows and arrows, crossbows and other projectiles. One little boy with a catapult was heaved bodily away by a woman, probably his mother. A bow was hastily thrust into Alfred's hand and he winced. He wasn't the best bowman out there, he was a melee fighter, but he couldn't do anything about that.

Outside the village, howling and snarling in the dim light of late afternoon, orcs began to pool into sight. There weren't as many as Arthur had expected, but there were still at least three score and a dozen, at least.

"Small band, independent," Dragomir said, pulling his bow taut. "We've had bigger, small armies. Thank Tarma this isn't one of them. Shield spell," he ordered.

Arthur nodded, muttering words to deep magic under his breath. He waited expectantly for the familiar flare of power, ready to feel it fill every cell in his body and flow like liquid fire through every vein…

But it did not come.

Confused, he tried again. And again. Then he spoke the words out loud, something he had not done for years. He threw his staff to the walkway and used hand seals, something no true mage would ever need to do. Alfred stared at him.

"What's wrong?" he demanded. Arthur turned to him, his face stricken.

"My magic… I can't use my magic!"

.

End of Part Three


End file.
